by Jay Kristoff
Fists in the air.
Thousands of hands, raised as one. A gesture of defiance in the face of crushing odds, of courage and solidarity before abject tyranny. It was all he could do not to raise his fist in reply.
“So be it.” Kensai turned to Bo at his comms station. “Send word to all commanders. Full attack on my signal.”
Bo was stabbing at his console, tapping at his microphone. “I seem to have lost communications, Second Bloom…”
Kensai cursed, engaged the public address system again. “All forces, full attack!”
With a shriek of iron and pistons, the shreddermen charged—a scuttling, thumping horde of towering bipedal engines, saw-toothed arms raised. Bushimen stalked behind, crossbows and naginata spears in hand. The sky-fleet spat plumes of exhaust, gunning forward with hollow roars. And with the casual arrogance of a butcher on the way to the slaughterhouse, Commander Rei kicked his stirrups, urging the Earthcrusher into action.
The controls spat a dull clunking cough. The engines revved, great clouds of black smoke spewing from its chimneys. But for all the sound and fury, Earthcrusher didn’t move an inch.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Kin was thankful for the brass skin covering his face—he didn’t have to hide his grin.
“What in First Bloom’s name is happening?” Rei hissed.
* * *
Misaki stood aboard the sky-ship Truth Seeker, looking out over the Tōnan mountains. The Guild rebels aboard the vessel were gathered topside, all clad in gleaming new skins courtesy of a salvage raid into Chapterhouse Yama. Fresh paint gleamed down the ship’s flanks, a cluster of scarlet flags at her aft signifying allegiance to Chapterhouse Kigen.
The spider limbs at Misaki’s back twitched as she waited for the inevitable challenge from the First House patrols. She thought of Suki, her baby daughter, back in whatever safety the Kitsune fortress could provide. She found herself wishing she had gods to pray to.
A message chattered across the secure frequencies.
First House control tower seven to unidentified sky-ship. This is restricted airspace. Transmit ident code and security clearance package now.
Misaki’s fingers danced upon her mechabacus, deft and graceful; the fingers of a musician who had never learned to actually play.
Truth Seeker—5676-1814-4852-7951. Package transmitting.
Acknowledged, Truth Seeker. Processing …
Misaki sucked the inside of her lip, cast wary glances at her fellows.
“Be ready to turn and redline it,” she whispered.
Package confirmed. Truth Seeker, you are logged as having departed for Earthcrusher yesterday morning. Why have you returned to First House?
Starboard engine malfunction. We reported yesterday evening. Did you not receive?
I show no record of said report, Truth Seeker.
We were ordered to return to First House. Should I notify my Kyodai?
A pause, laden with the drone of engines, the smog-thick reek of chi.
Negative, Truth Seeker. Dock at sky-spire four. You will be met by First House security forces, acknowledge.
Acknowledged, First House.
The lotus must bloom.
The lotus must bloom.
Misaki cut the connection, grinning like a madwoman. The subterfuge had held—First House was allowing them to land. So far, Kitsune seemed to be looking after his own.
The Truth Seeker flew on through the mountains, her captain ordering the starboard engine shut down. The propeller sputtered and died, spitting a brief smear of exhaust into the building snowstorm. Black slurry was accruing on the deck, Misaki shivering despite the poreless skin coating her body. Her eyes were on the clouds, noting the shadows of lurking ironclads, the three-man corvettes flitting amongst snow-clad mountaintops.
Finally, she spied it in the distance, atop an immense granite spur, wreathed in smoke. A pentagonal fortress of filthy yellow stone, rooted by mighty buttresses to sheer black cliffs. The pipelines converged here, winding up the mountainside and vomiting into First House’s belly. A service road spiraled up from the valley, dotted with guard towers, ending at a goods elevator one hundred feet below the summit. Misaki thanked the heavens for their stolen sky-ship—there was no way in hells anyone was making it into First House without wings.
As the Truth Seeker cleared the outer wall, Misaki and five other rebels gathered at the railing. At a signal from the helmsman, cloudwalkers in the Seeker’s gut spilled smoke bombs into the exhaust filters, and an enormous plume of choking tar spewed from the starboard engine. The Seeker spun on its axis, smearing black across the skies.
Misaki waited until they’d drifted over the First House fuel dumps. With her brethren behind her, she leaped over the railing and dropped onto the tanks. The Seeker drifted over the First House complex, spewing smoke cover, an iron claxon singing duet with a shrill siren. With slightly overdramatic effort, the crew forced her down onto landing pad four. Ground crews were waiting, fire gear ready, shrouded in black fumes from the “faulty” engine.
Hunkering down by an access hatch, Misaki tuned in to the First House security feeds with her mechabacus, listening for an alert. She noted chatter about a priority prisoner being escorted to the Chamber of Void. But hearing nothing about intruders on the chi silos, she nodded to her brethren, and they set to work breaking open the hatch.
Misaki nodded to herself, trying to calm the storm in her stomach.
So far, so good.
* * *
The ascent was torturous, fumbling in the dark, fingers scrabbling against the pipeline’s greasy innards. Kaori was soaked with chi-stink, blood-red reek seeping into every pore. The incline had been gentle at first, but as they climbed higher, the slope deepened, their footing growing ever more treacherous.
Kaori had finally relented to Maro’s demands, lighting a hand-cranked tungsten lamp, throwing long shadows on concave walls. They’d passed through two more pumping stations, forcing through the heavy one-way hatches into cylindrical chambers, twenty feet in diameter. Pistons loomed overhead, frozen in place with no fuel to pump.
Eventually, they heard the rhythmic pulse of machinery ahead, echoing in the oily dark. Shining the light into the gloom, she saw their pipeline curving downward into another below, the join sealed with a heavy, one-way valve. Beyond it, they could hear another pumping station, an intermittent current, like a river of butter sloshing against the pipeline’s guts.
“This must be where the Yama pipe meets the other flows,” Maro muttered. “This is where the fun begins.”
The man had his head tilted, listening to the pistons’ pattern. The pump station below would be a duplicate of the dry stations they’d already passed through—three massive piston chambers, driven by hydraulics. The pistons would draw themselves up, sucking chi into the chambers. Then, one at a time, the pistons would descend, like massive plungers in a syringe, forcing the chi along the pipe. Subsequent pumping action kept the chi flowing once it had moved through, like train commuters being pushed along by people flooding in behind.
“Ten seconds for the chambers to fill,” Maro concluded. “Each piston takes six seconds to hit bottom. Once the third piston hits, all three ascend. Then it starts again.”
“Twenty-eight seconds to swim sixty feet,” Kaori whispered. “That will be tight.”
“The pumping action will help force you through the valves. I’m more worried about breathing. There won’t be much air once we drop into that current. And it’s going to be black as night. Once we’re inside, there’s no turning back.”
Kaori was staring ahead, feeble light reflected in the glass covering her eyes.
“There has never been any turning back,” she murmured. “For any of us. Everything we are, everything we’ve done has brought us to this moment. This minute. This second.”
She looked at the Kagé gathered in the dark, each in turn.
“And I am not afraid.”
* * *
The wind was a thousand knives, flaying skin from bone.
The frost left bite marks on Hana’s skin, black snow frozen on her goggles. She leaned into Akihito for warmth as they spiraled down to the gaijin camp. Remembering falling asleep with his breath kissing the back of her neck. Brute strength wrapped in gentle tenderness.
She could feel Kaiah’s apprehension, spilling into her and setting her hands to shaking. The arashitora rankled at the thought of returning Hana to this army of fools—these monkey-children who skinned beasts and wore them in some preposterous attempt to usurp their strength.
- WHAT DOES THIS RITUAL ENTAIL? -
I’ve no idea.
- DANGEROUS? -
I don’t know that either.
- THEN WHY DO THIS? WE SHOULD BE WITH THE OTHERS, PREPARING FOR BATTLE. LITTLE FOXES ARE OUTNUMBERED TWO TO ONE. -
I trust Uncle Aleksandar.
- A MAN YOU MET TWO DAYS AGO. -
Family is everything to him. He promised to protect me.
- PROMISES ARE ONLY WORDS. -
Piotr promised to get the Guildsman’s letter back to his beloved, and he betrayed his own people to do it. That’s how much a promise means to a Morcheban.
- AND THE FOOLS TAKE HIM BACK. EVEN AFTER HIS BETRAYAL. -
Because he found me. That’s how much I mean to them.
- DO NOT LIKE THIS. IF YUKIKO WERE HERE … -
Yukiko told me to be brave. That’s what I’m doing. The Goddess could give me the power to see the way to victory. To see the future. Who knows what I’ll be after this ritual is done?
- NOBODY KNOWS. THAT IS WHAT TROUBLES ME. -
This is a part of me, Kaiah. Every bit as much as the Kenning. We can still fight. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can join the battle for Yama.
The thunder tiger was silent, brooding. Head swimming with vague notes of sadness, of loss, of tiny bundles thrown wingless and bleeding into the void.
Nothing is going to happen to me, Kaiah. You’re there to protect me. Akihito too. The first sign of danger, we get the hells out of there. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.
- NOT THE ONLY ONE, I HOPE. -
Hundreds of gaijin watched them glide down to the frozen earth, many lowering their heads, parting like a wave as she slipped down off Kaiah’s back. Akihito grunted as he pulled his bad leg over and slithered down beside her. Hana noted dark stares aimed at the big man, aggression hanging in the air.
Aleksandar pushed his way through the mob, spitting Morcheban words she could only guess were curses. Piotr limped alongside, bowing when he saw her. Her uncle was wearing his wolfpelt, the battered breastplate embossed with House Mostovoi’s sigil, the same stag gleaming around her neck. She was wearing her mother’s gift openly now, after years of hiding it. Hiding who she was. Gold gleaming in the rising sun.
“My blood, come, come,” Aleksandar said. “We have little time.”
She noted her uncle refused to touch her, to take her hand and drag her along as someone in a hurry might be expected to. With a reassuring smile to Akihito, and a flood of warmth into Kaiah’s mind, she walked toward the command tent. Aleksandar strode behind, followed by Akihito and the thunder tiger, Piotr limping in the rear.
Soldiers in grubby uniforms and the pelts of mighty beasts lined her approach. At the end of the path stood the two Zryachniye. Sister Katya, for all her apparent ferocity, embraced Hana like they’d known each other all their lives. The Holy Mother Natassja also held her close, surprising strength in her bony arms. Wrinkled lips were pressed to Hana’s cheeks, the glow of the old woman’s right iris spilling into the furrows on her face.
Natassja spoke, Aleksandar translating her words.
“Welcome, Hana Mostovoi, in this, the hour of the Goddess. Are you prepared to meet her?”
“I don’t know,” Hana said. “I think so.”
“The Holy Mother bids you go with her,” Aleksandar said. “She has felt an ill-portent since late last night. But there is nothing to fear. You are amongst your sisters now. It is time to meet your mother.”
Katya held the tent flap wider, motioned into the dark. Hana turned, uncertain. Akihito had lifted his goggles, was looking right at her, a reassuring smile on his face. She reached out to Kaiah, feeling strength and ferocity prowling behind her stare.
- IF YOU NEED ME, CALL. -
I will.
A crackling voice echoed across the valley, edged with metal and static amidst the distant roar of sky-ship engines.
“People of Yama, warriors of the Fox clan, I am Shateigashira Kensai of Chapterhouse Kigen, loyal servant of Tojo, First Bloom of the Lotus Guild. Hear me now…”
This was who she was. And the longer she spent hovering on the edge, the longer it would take to help her friends. Michi and Blackbird, the Kagé and the Guild rebels. Even Daimyo Isamu. They were counting on her. She could do this. She was born to do this.
The words she and Yukiko shared at their parting rang clear and bright in her mind.
“I’m not you, Yukiko,” she’d said. “I’m not a hero.”
“You can be anything you want. Fate deals us our hand, but we decide how to play it. We all of us choose the people we want to be.”
And with a final smile to Akihito, she stepped into the dark to make her choice.
38
DISINTEGRATING
“Report!” Commander Rei bellowed. “All stations, immediately!”
A tumult of voices erupted, brethren reporting losses of all bridge-based functions. Kin smiled like the Kitsune who stole the Emperor’s dinner. Any second now, they’d hear the alarms heralding Shinji’s fire, drawing crews away from the engine room. Maseo would then be free to blow the cooling system. All according to—
Kensai glanced up from his mechabacus, fingers dancing as he spoke with a sandpaper voice. “Calm yourself, Commander. All is as it should be.”
An icy certainty in Kensai’s voice. A fistful of dread in Kin’s stomach. The Shateigashira turned to two Lotusmen stationed near the elevator.
“Take him.”
The Lotusmen marched across the bridge and seized Bo’s arms, hauled him back from the communications hub as he squawked in protest. Pistons hissed, the air filled with short bursts of exhaust as the pair dragged Bo before the Shateigashira, forced him to his knees and tore off his helm. The elevator doors opened with a shuddering groan and two more Lotusmen marched onto the bridge, dragging brother Maseo. The rebel’s helm had also been removed, and he’d been beaten bloody, cheek and lips split, one eye swollen shut.
“Shateigashira?” Rei’s voice was incredulous. “What is this?”
“An operation, Commander,” Kensai replied. “To remove the cancer taken root aboard this vessel. The third conspirator will be in hand momentarily.”
Kin was trembling, a thousand thoughts skittering through his head, a million beats per minute. The third conspirator would be Shinji—Kensai must have discovered the rebel infiltrators aboard the Earthcrusher somehow. Perhaps they captured another rebel in Kigen, forced them to talk. Maybe Bo and the others had been observed before Kin arrived. However the trio had been uncovered, Shinji would be in hand within moments. Everything ruined.
But they didn’t know about him. Kensai had only mentioned three. He wasn’t officially part of the rebellion—however Kensai had unraveled the plot, Kin had avoided detection. If he kept his mouth shut, he might have a chance to escape, detonate the charges himself—
Kensai drew the iron-thrower at his belt; the same weapon Kin had aimed at Daichi’s head. The Second Bloom’s voice echoed throughout the Earthcrusher’s innards.
“Attention rebels aboard this vessel,” Kensai said. “Your coconspirators are in custody. Your plans are known to us, and already thwarted. Surrender yourselves, or I will execute your brethren here and now. You have ten seconds to comply.”
Kin grit his teeth. Sweat in his eyes. Breath coming harder. Faster.
Kensai engaged pressure, po
inted the iron-thrower at Bo’s head.
“Eight seconds…”
He’s going to kill them anyway. Turning yourself over will only mean you die too.
“Six…”
If you stay hidden, there’s still hope.
“Five seconds…”
Bo and Maseo didn’t look into Kin’s eyes. Didn’t plead. Didn’t falter. Prepared to die for their beliefs. For the rebellion.
“Four…”
Too many people have perished to get you aboard this vessel. If you give up now, Daichi’s sacrifice was in vain. Every rebel who died in the Yama rebellion. The Danro attacks. The Kigen suicide bombings—
“Three…”
And what’s a few more murders now, eh?
“Two…”
A few more bodies for the pile?
“One…”
Gods, what have you become …
“Stop. Uncle, please.”
A dozen burning glares turning on him. Kensai’s eyes drilling into his skull.
“Kin-san? You have something to say?”
“This is my idea. It was me. All me.”
Bo hissed, glanced toward Kin at last. “You fool, shut—”
A slap sent the boy to the floor. Kin stared hard at the Shateigashira’s horrid, childlike face. “It was my doing, Uncle. All of it.”
The Second Bloom tilted his head.
“I know, Kin-san.” Kensai’s smile curled in every word. “But I truly wondered if you would have the courage to admit it yourself.”
A small bow.
“My respects.”
And with a squeeze of the trigger, Kensai blew Bo’s and Maseo’s brains all over the floor.
* * *
They marched through halls of yellow stone, black carpet underfoot. His coughing echoed on the masonry, the Inquisitor on either arm pausing when it grew too violent. But as soon as he regained his breath, they were moving again, through steel doors expanding like the iris of a human eye, the crisp sound of blade kissing blade accompanying their dilations.
